


couldn't find a home, so I made one myself

by grydo2life



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Also fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, but phil loves him anyway, ccbingo, clint is a thief, lots of fluff, nesting fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is perhaps more of a birdbrain than people give him credit for. Phil loves him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	couldn't find a home, so I made one myself

**Author's Note:**

> For ccbingo Round 1: Sharing Clothing.
> 
> This more or less came about after I made one too many bad 'bird!Clint' jokes in my head and had no one to share them with. And then I noticed that I had Wild Card spots on my bingo card and oh look, nesting fic. Yeah...

It starts fairly subtle, at least as far as anything concerning Clint ever does. Phil notices right away when the old college hoodie he keeps in the bottom drawer of his desk goes missing, mostly because he’s so used to having to dig around it to get at his extra packs of staples that not having to do so is a little bit jarring. 

He’s not overly concerned; Clint (and Phil knows it’s him, the same way he instinctively knows which pranks reek of his involvement and which are purely Stark’s territory) has been threatening to steal it for years. Phil just assumes that he’s finally made good on it. 

When his spare jacket and undershirt disappear the following week, he raises an eyebrow but avoids commenting. Clint is usually not so mix-matched about his thievery, and this is the first time he’s ever not given anything back, but Phil has seen weirder things from the archer and, anyway, it’s not like it’s doing any harm. 

The week after, he loses a pullover and a blue button-down he rarely wears. He’s beginning to sense a pattern. 

Then things start to vanish from his closet at home, and Phil contemplates putting his foot down. Realistically, it’s not a particularly big deal; Clint has limited his selections to clothes that are old and worn enough that replacing them is not entirely unreasonable, and he hasn’t gone near a single one of Phil’s suits. There are far worse things he could be doing in his spare time.

It’s just that Phil can’t figure out what he’s _doing_ with it all. He hasn’t spotted Clint wearing a single pilfered item (excepting that one pair of jeans that Phil actually gave him months ago, because they make his ass look pretty damn amazing), and he’s been to Clint’s place enough to know he’s not keeping them there, either. By all accounts, it’s as if the missing clothing has just vanished.

And then there is a mission, and the clothes stop disappearing for a solid three weeks. Phil spends days at a time monitoring progress, giving orders, and waiting for long stints of radio silence to end. When he’s not working, he is studying his closet. There is an ever growing pile beside his bed that he adds to every day. 

When Clint finally gets back, it’s on a stretcher with a mangled ankle and too many bruises. But his pulse is strong and his grin is triumphant, so Phil counts it as a victory and only bitches him out when he’s too high on painkillers to really pay attention.

On the fourth day of Clint’s stay in medical, Phil carefully folds the clothing in the pile he’s accumulated, packs them away into a bag, and carries it in to work with him to work.

He doesn’t make it four steps into the infirmary before he is confronted by a doctor.

“He escaped.” She tells him flatly, before he can ask. She’s one of their senior medical staff, and is probably the only one Phil has ever seen actually manage to tie Clint down long enough to give him his inoculations. He likes her. “Here,” she says, shoving a clipboard into his hands. A medical release form. “Make sure he takes his meds, and keep that ankle iced.”

Phil is fairly certain at least half of that is a threat. He signs the form, thanks her, and then heads directly for the nearest ceiling access point. 

He doesn’t spend nearly as much time in here as Clint does, but he’s been dragged up enough times to know which areas Clint tends to haunt. He also knows which one happens to be Clint’s favorite, and that is where he heads for first. (He has commented on multiple occasions on just how _creepy_ it is to have someone hiding in the crawlspace above his office, watching him work, but he’s pretty sure that’s done nothing but encourage the archer.)

Sure enough, when he turns the final corner the first thing he spots is a mop of tussled blonde hair, barely visible in the dull light that trickles in from the cracks in the ceiling tiles below them. 

As he creeps closer, he notices other things as well. Cloth everywhere, padding the floor and carefully piled together. Most of it is his own, he notices, although a few pieces are ones that he’s spotted in Clint’s closet on occasion. 

He’s fairly certain that purple shirt in the corner belongs to Banner. 

And there, nestled right in the center of it, is Clint. He’s wearing the old hoodie that started the whole thing, knees tucked to his chest, eyes closed. He’s _napping_. It’s… actually quite cute.

“You nested,” Phil says, amused as he picks his way through the carefully constructed den.

Clint peeks open a single blue eye and gives him a lazy smile. “Was the general idea.” He murmurs. He doesn’t move so much as scoots over, and Phil takes the invitation, dropping his bag and settling in beside him, one arm automatically wrapping around Clint’s waist. It’s actually pretty comfortable. 

“Do I want to know your reasoning behind this?”

Clint gives a half-shrug that barely lifts his shoulders. “Probably not.” 

And Phil is content to let it go at that. He doesn’t bother pretending he understands even half of what Clint does; he finds it’s better for them both if he just accepts it and moves on. And anyway, this is still not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen Clint do. 

It does, however, rank up there as one of the most endearing.

“What’s in the bag?” Clint mumbles out after a moment, sounding half-asleep.

“Hm? Oh,” Phil lifts his head enough to glance in the direction of the object in question. “More building material, I suppose.” Clint lets out a soft laugh in reply. Phil strokes a hand down his side idly, pausing only briefly to enjoy the gentle rumble that comes from it. “I didn’t have much else to do with you not around to keep me busy.”

Clint presses back against him. “You missed me.” He decides.

“I did.” Phil agrees, because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. Then he grins to himself and presses his lips to the back of Clint’s neck. “I can’t believe you built yourself a nest.” 

Clint sounds pleased with himself when he replies, “It’s a good nest.” As if to prove his point, he snuggles down deeper into the pile of cotton and wool. “Smells like you,” he adds sleepily. “I like it. ‘s safe.”

He drifts off completely a few moments later. Phil waits until he’s deep enough into his cycle that it won’t wake him, then sends off a quiet order over his radio for someone to bring an ice pack and a bottle of water in about an hour. Then he settles in for the long haul.

And if he spends the time making plans on how he can rotate out bits of the nest for regular washing to keep it clean and lacking in mildew, well. Clint never has to know.


End file.
